


Out with the old, in with the new.

by sunshinestealer



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinestealer/pseuds/sunshinestealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tseng lays gravely injured in a Midgar hospital bed, following events during the game. Reno introspects. (Lots of Turks headcanon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out with the old, in with the new.

It had been a long night for Reno.

One of the longer nights he’d had to put in for a while. 

The piercing light of the lamps in the sick bay’s waiting room seared his eyes and prevented him from even taking cat naps. Not that he’d be seen napping on the job, or anything — the Turks had a reputation to protect. He was artificially awake, rising every now and again to take a new bag of chips or a chocolate bar from the vending machine, along with a top up of coffee. The bottom of his cup must have been pitch black from all the grains by now.

It was Tseng. The leader of the Turks had gotten into a royal mess of things, pursuing that ragtag band of heroes who were determined to take down Sephiroth. Or was it JENOVA? He was too tired to think straight, and it didn’t matter. From face value alone, it was Sephiroth.

Visitations in the sick bay were limited, but Reno was determined to keep up a vigil. Turks had to stick together. Besides, Rude would be coming along later to take his place.

Tseng had been brought in by helicopter — the very same one Reno piloted, racing against time to get to Midgar. He’d never felt so thankful to see the spires of the enormous Mako plant fade into view.

Whatever the new bunch of AVALANCHE operatives was planning on doing - whether it was their usual pursuit of ecological terrorism or indeed, stopping Sephiroth - it had gravely injured Tseng. Reno wasn’t trained in medicine or first aid in any way, but a very gentle check of Tseng’s body showed injuries to the torso consistent with being crushed. Elena nearly cried when she saw the internal haemorrhaging blossoming under his skin. On the helicopter back to Midgar, she had sat with him, admitting to Reno and Rude over the speaker that if they had been any later…

The Turks didn’t even want to think of what would happen if they didn’t have a leader like Tseng in place. The paperwork Shinra insisted on when any of their departments went through a change in management was a nightmare, certainly — but there was nobody to even _pick_ who would get the job done quite as well as Tseng had.

Following on from Veld, Tseng had swept aside the cobwebs of the ‘old way’ of doing things, and put an end to the petty dramas that had characterised life in the office among the new recruits. He was extremely fair to the newbies, but a harsh disciplinarian when mistakes were made. He’d promoted Reno and Rude, and brought in young Elena for further training. He’d been more lenient with hours off, and to Reno’s horror, the man was an absolute _expert_ at determining over the phone whether you were really ill or just chucking a sickie for the hell of it.

Now, that proud, efficient man who had taken to leading the Turks like a duck takes to water, was lying down the hall on a ventilator. Stupid goddamn AVALANCHE.

In the past, the group had simply been a nuisance. No problem there — you rolled up a newspaper, and you swatted it. Even with their hundreds of guerrilla fighters and sophisticated attacks on Shinra’s computer security, they were usually taken out. But, all the hardiest of weeds eventually grow back. When the assassinations and imprisonments of their leaders became a _little_ too suspicious, the Turks had changed tack and ran smear campaigns through the media. Like the Sector 7 plate dropping due to AVALANCHE’s bombs and not Shinra’s.

But now… now, AVALANCHE were a lot less sophisticated, fewer in number, and running from the inside of whichever hotel room was nearby. They should have been easy to rip out at the root. They weren’t carefully recruiting new members (well… the last Reno saw, there was a new addition in that weird vampire guy), and they weren’t indoctrinating teenagers over the web to take up their cause. 

Even in such a small form, they were stronger than ever. But, Sephiroth was still one of the strongest people Reno had ever met. One of Reno’s first assignments as a Turk was to escort the21 year old Sephiroth to his doctor’s appointments, and to the sparring room. (Sephiroth resentfully bristled at being followed everywhere, but acquiesced to the fact that the young Turk was just doing his job and nothing more.) Reno had once jokingly suggested going toe-to-toe with the SOLDIER. The cat-like eyes had narrowed. “It’d be no contest,” Sephiroth said, with only a slight hint of mirth in his voice.

Reno made a displeased face as he swallowed down some of the dregs of coffee. He was bone tired, perhaps for the first time in his life. The exhaustion was both physical and emotional. He wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed forever and wait for this whole thing to blow over. Maybe some R&R in Costa del Sol. No, wait, that felt selfish. He shook his head and gritted his teeth, waiting for the wave of fatigue to pass.

He’d crawl back to the apartment he and Rude shared in Sector 1 and slump onto the futon. Elena was probably doing just that right now, with her parents (and her exiled older sister) having relocated as soon as it seemed Midgar was going to the pits.

Hopefully they’d all get out of here. Sooner rather than later.

* * *

Before switching posts with Elena, Reno had taken the long elevator ride up to the Turks’ Main Office. It was once a hub of activity, with navy-suited workers carrying boxes of important documents to and fro, soundtracked by the clicking of computer keyboards as Turks desperately tried to get their reports in on time. (Reno’s personal record was three all-nighters in a row during a particularly difficult period of SOLDIER desertion.) Now, it lay silent and dark.

Reno had crept into Tseng’s office, ramming the door open when the key got stuck in the old lock. Tseng's desktop computer seemed several years out of date, but it quickly whirred to life as Reno pressed the button on the tower. His laptop had been taken with him on the mission, but it didn’t contain any of the sensitive documents and messages Reno would need to determine what was going to happen with the Turks. If it had, the information on the laptop would have been heavily encrypted.

There were no new e-mails, really. Reno had e-mails from pizza delivery companies and multiple other websites (that somehow escaped the spam filter), just for the simplicity of only using one e-mail address. Tseng had a few ignored messages from the former President, and some quickly-typed out messages from the new President, mostly on what he should be doing besides sitting in board meetings where Scarlett, Heidegger et al were rather disrespectful to him. Ah. Yeah. Rufus was probably down here somewhere, wasn’t he?

Tseng’s inbox was shorter than his archive of messages. Reno clicked the latter, and scan-read the e-mails up to two months prior. President Shinra’s health was in decline. Mayor Domino was unfit for leading the people of Midgar… but unfit in such a way that would allow Shinra to pull even more strings behind the scenes. So, just perfect, really. Professor Hojo had submitted another round of reports on the genetically-altered guard hounds, and a few other creatures bred specifically for their genetic code to be uploaded into the combat simulation system. Reeve habitually e-mailed, requesting more information on some upcoming meeting he had been excluded from. Nothing out of the usual.

But, these past few months, there had been a sense that change was going to come. Shinra was quite shaky on its feet, and even the public were beginning to notice. The President had a recurrent hacking cough, and the Nibelheim incident had resulted in a public relations disaster. Fewer youngsters were joining the military since the disappearance of a celebrated hero like Sephiroth. SOLDIER, once a fairly exclusive club for the most elite mercenaries, with millions of Gil invested into their training and public image… was now having to recruit men who had shown prowess that was slightly above average in the Guardsmen platoons. Not genius strategists who were lightning fast on their feet and absolute experts with their weaponry — salt of the earth men who had learned over the course of a few months how to operate a variety of guns. Professor Hojo had complained in one e-mail of ‘SOLDIER getting soft,’ and Heidegger had repeated much the same. 

Of course, it wasn’t fair to lay the blame on the new management, when these problems had gone into free-fall during the final months of the former presidency. Rufus had been left a hell of a job to do — and it was often argued whether or not he was even _qualified_. Scarlett pointedly suggested that one could not be an efficient CEO from simply reading Niccolo Machiavelli. 

With so many people in Shinra chatting behind his back and eagerly anticipating his downfall, it was no wonder that Rufus was cold and brusque to most of them, which didn’t help to improve matters. Fair play to him, though. Better to maintain a business-like demeanour, rather than turn to sycophancy.

* * *

Reno felt the first twinges of a headache blooming at his temples. He massaged them with his fingertips, reminding himself to stay awake. Hopefully a nurse would come around soon with news on Tseng’s condition.

He’d already been given some information — albeit very briefly. The medic on duty had diagnosed internal bleeding, cracked ribs, and a possibly broken sternum and hip. Tests were going to be run through the night, and hopefully Rude would be briefed when he arrived.

Tseng had been rendered insensible from the pain before, and currently, he wasn’t in a fit state to entertain visitors, not with the painkillers they had administered, dripping into his arm. The lead Turk would probably be standing up after a week or so, commanding the nurses on duty to bring him to work, or for the computer security department to supply him with a new laptop so he could attend to e-mails and documents left on the company server.

Reno wished he could have that kind of work ethic. He didn’t know much about his boss, besides what he’d observed over the years. Tseng was from Wutai, he liked to keep himself clean and manicured, and this job was everything to him. According to Veld, Tseng was incredibly earnest when he first started the job, as most newbies were, and had eventually developed the hard shell and closed-off attitude of a stern professional. Reno liked to think he hadn’t become a boring old corporate drone like that, even after nearly nine years of active service. At least Reno still had a sense of humour.

Though, there wasn’t anything funny about this current situation. He’d tried joking about unrelated manners to cheer up his compatriots during the helicopter ride back, but they had remained silent. For the first hour, Elena had been numb, the only sign of distress being the shaking hands she tried to disguise by tucking into her blazer.

Rude had been somewhat distressed too. Of course, nobody could tell that by looking, but Reno was so finely attuned to his partner that he just _knew_. He could see the little crack of a smile that meant he’d said something particularly funny, the bob of the shoulders that he quickly disguised with a roll of the shoulders, even the crinkle of his eyes from the sides of his sunglasses. Rude sighed every now and again during the helicopter ride, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Turks stuck together. It had been drilled into Reno throughout all his time. Despite the skill set needed, and the high turnover rate (from death or injury, rather than employees demoted for not meeting targets), the Turks weren’t regarded particularly well among the higher-ups. Turks did the dirty work, and were Shinra’s personal attack and guard dogs for perilous situations. This wasn’t counting the hours spent in the office managing PR scandals when the company’s reputation was on the line, making undesirables disappear (and putting fear into the hearts of concerned friends and relatives who could scrounge together money for a lawyer), and keeping Shinra’s secrets under lock and key.

He stared at the black flakes left in the bottom of his coffee cup. Was he actually getting old by this point? He’d joined the Turks at the age of twenty. His twenty-seventh birthday had come and gone while he was still on duty only a few months before. Youthful appearance aside, Reno knew the past few years had been fairly rough. Veld, Elfé, the Ravens… AVALANCHE. Funny how history tended to repeat itself.

His phone buzzed with a text message in his pocket. It was from Elena, who had been called to accompany Rufus further up north. They were leaving the helicopter behind, taking a ferry and one of the Shinra company vehicles with a four wheel drive. Reno chuckled to himself — between them, Rufus and Elena must have only had a few years’ experience driving for themselves, especially in harsh road conditions. But he was in no fit state to pilot the helicopter, and he and Rude didn’t want to leave Tseng’s side for now.

He texted back a simple ‘okay,’ and flipped the phone shut. Not that you were really _supposed_ to use your phone in the sick bay, but he was too tired to care.

He closed his eyes for forty winks. 

* * *

 

Rude had been up for at least an hour or so. He’d poured out some coffee, drank it, and methodically dressed in a new suit. Looking out over the city, Midgar seemed to be going on as usual. The sky was grey, threatening rain. Lights were on in the skyscrapers next to them, as people starting their working day.

Admittedly, Rude liked people-watching. He’d wonder if the family in their kitchen on the seventh floor across from him were from Costa del Sol, like himself. The parents were likely Shinra peons, and the two kids had rather fancy uniforms on — likely one of the inner city private schools, funded by the very corporation that had the whole Midgar in its clutches. Either the parents were paying through the nose, or the kids had knuckled down hard to study and get in through scholarships.

Rain started to fall. Rude sighed and moved away from the window, placing his coffee mug in the sink. Taking a black umbrella from the stand beside the door, he made his way out of the residential building and got on one of the shuttle trains to the central Shinra building.  

* * *

 

On one of the higher floors, the SOLDIERs had their own sick bay. Turks got to use it as well, in cases of dire emergency. The sick bay was quite rarely used by SOLDIER these days. Reno remembered typing up reports of SOLDIER candidates who had adverse reactions to the Mako treatments, and thus barred from the rest of the programme. That was always a pain — Mako could sometimes be so toxic to individuals. Not everyone was Sephiroth, or the other freakishly-talented SOLDIERs born out of Project G and Project S.

_(Whoops. Classified information.)_

Reno had only been awake from his cat-nap for a few minutes. He perked up as he heard the familiar footsteps of Rude walking into the room, bearing a fresh new cup of coffee. The fancier kind from that artisan coffee house in the square outside the Shinra building. Usually, you couldn’t move in that café for university students. Every time he went, Reno was a little shocked at how _young_ university students were these days. Had it really been that long since Reno counted himself among their number?

_(Education, bah. Couldn’t even finish an associates degree in business. Sorry, pops.)_

He took the cup gratefully, sipping through the foam. “That’s it, that’s the stuff,” he sighed. Rude took a seat beside him. “Elena’s going up north with Rufus. Not the best idea, but hey. Up to her, y’know? She’s gonna be _real_ pissed at those AVALANCHE guys for killing Tseng.”

Rude’s eyebrows raised over his sunglasses. “Tseng’s passed away?”

“Shit, no. He’s still alive. Sorry, so tired I forgot to use air quotes,” he groaned. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to go crash. Don’t take that literally, okay?”

Rude made a brief grunt, patting Reno’s shoulder before he got up.

“Tseng’s gonna be fine. Cracked ribs, hip, sternum, internal bleeding… If you know anythin’ about the boss, though, he’s going to want a wheelchair and some painkillers and then get straight back to work. Don’t let him.”

With that, Reno got up with a flourish, stretching out his joints. “I’ll see you on the flip-side, my man. Keep in touch.” 

* * *

 

The Turks were a barely functioning unit these days. There were just too few of them, and training and paperwork simply took too long. Those going into the SOLDIER programme would complain of courses consisting of nothing but safeguarding Shinra’s reputation and signing every NDA document imaginable. The same went for the Turks. SOLDIERs were subject to an inquiry if sensitive information leaked, but Turks could be harshly interrogated by their peers, and depending on the severity of the case… brought before a firing squad. 

You were nameless and faceless, right to the very end. Some Turks preferred going by code names. Reno had adapted parts of his birth name to make a ‘cool’ nickname, and Elena simply went by her middle name. Tseng’s real name was a mystery for the ages, however.

The few Turks who were still milling around when Reno went to check on the department had a rather lost look in their eyes. At least the main offices were tidier than they had ever been.

“Hey,” Reno said, hoping he didn’t look as tired as he felt. “Half day. I say so. Boss is incapacitated, leavin’ me in charge. And I’m takin’ the day off.”

The Turks looked to each other, unsure what to make of Reno being in command like this. Eventually, they shrugged. “We’ll stick around.” One of the newer guys offered. “Senior management might need us.”

Reno shrugged. “All right, that’s your funeral.” He sauntered out of the entrance, his mind dull with fatigue. He couldn’t even get the card-reader to work for the private elevator down to the front entrance, taking several tries to get the damn thing in and registering his identity.

He’d run a few marathons in his lifetime, and even taken part in the yearly SOLDIER fitness test. But now, the distance back to the apartment seemed like it was a million miles away from his current location. 

Nothing to do now but take the first step of the journey.


End file.
